Waiting

She sits quietly on the veranda on a worn, wooden rocker. 

The light fades as the sun sets. Moths begin to cluster near the light. 

Knitting in hand, she waits. Knit two, purl two, wait. Knit two, purl two, wait. 

She sets her work on her lap and breathes deeply. 

The cool evening air carries the smell of fresh cut hay and a floral scent drifts gently on the breeze. Fireflies sparkle in the wheat field. A heron flies overhead in the darkening sky as it makes its way home to the pond at the end of the lane. Another deep breath. 

Calmer now, she picks up her knitting. Knit two, purl two, wait. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The phone rings and she sighs, suddenly afraid. The wait is over. 

Tucking her project away, she walks slowly into the house.